A Break from Normality
by Belphegor
Summary: My go at an angsty ficlet - sort of. Five months after Ahm Shere, Evy finds out she's not the only one with nightmares.


**Author's notes ** Hello, all of you:o) That's another Mummy fic from me, a ficlet really. It's a one-shot I wrote in summer 2003, in my bed, from midnight to 4 in the morning … Eh, I couldn't sleep. But I did come back to it afterwards, to correct mistakes and all.

I've never written anything so dark before, so please be kind. That night, something occurred to me, the idea that, after the death and resurrection of Evy at Ahm Shere, the three members of the O'Connell family must have come together, you know, comforted each other – for some reasons, I can see Evy, Rick and Alex (not necessarily the three of them together) talk about it to each other, probably not big heart-to-hearts, but at least bits of conversation now and then. But what about Jonathan? I see him – but that's my opinion, really – carrying on being the joker and avoid to talk about it, because it's not a subject he'd be quite comfortable about.

So there :o)

_Disclaimer: No, I don't own any of the characters/places depicted here. Though I'd very much like to live in the manor we see in TMR - but that would be the hell to take care of ! ;o)_

**A BREAK FROM NORMALITY**

Five months had passed since their return from Egypt. Five long months, during which their lives had slowly gone back to normal, or as normal as they could be. The British Museum had another curator, and the repair work was now finished. And though the weather had been disastrous for a month or so, with cold rain and wind raging outside the windows of the house, the atmosphere inside was cheerful.

Rick and Alex had toned down their antics since Ahm Shere, but now they were gradually returning to their old selves. Evy found herself more and more frequently frowning upon some new 'acquisitions' in Alex's language; although she knew she had mostly Rick to thank for that, she suspected that quite a few dubious expressions came from the Carnahan side of the family. And while Jonathan spent most of his time out in search of a flat these days – his sister didn't quite know what had motivated him – he also sat at table with them more often, and was as good company as ever. He never mentioned Ahm Shere, though, even in passing, in the midst of a conversation about Egypt – for Alex was as passionate about it as he always had been. Besides, he had come across the subject of Egyptian antique civilisation in one of his classes at school, and had amazed everyone with his knowledge, including his teacher.

The dinner had been pleasant, and everybody minus Alex had listened to the wireless until Evelyn noticed that Jonathan was dozing off in the next armchair.

"Seems that knocking 'round the streets of London's more tiring than I'd thought," said Rick, chuckling. Evelyn was too tired herself to do anything more than cast him a reproachful look; she woke up her brother and the three of them walked up the stairs to their respective rooms.

Evy never could tell, afterwards, what woke her up in the middle of the night. She lay in bed for what seemed like hours, trying to go back to sleep … but the loud cracks of thunder prevented it. There was also the sudden cold under the sheets, which told her she had rolled away from Rick's warmth before awaking. Then, after a few long minutes of snuggling beside her sleeping husband, she realised that she simply could not fall back to sleep. And that she was thirsty. It was very annoying.

She rolled away from Rick again, very gently so as not to wake him, and slipped into her dressing gown and slippers. Careful not to make the floorboards creak, she closed the door behind her, and let her feet lead her instinctively to the kitchen downstairs, through the darkness that was ripped up now and then by a blinding flash of lightening.

She was walking to the stairs down the corridor with her hand on the wall for support when she almost fell over. She had come across an open door, and for a moment she was afraid it might be Alex's. Her boy had had trouble sleeping during the first two months in England after their forced trip to Egypt. Though he was eight years old and so too old for this, according to his own words, he had fallen asleep in his parents' bed many a time – when he wasn't sneaking into Jonathan's room. Those two were terrible. They could chat endlessly all through the night.

Jonathan … Yes, it was his room, not Alex's, as Evy realised when she opened the door a bit more and peeked inside. The bed was empty, and so was the room. The sheets and blankets had been thrown in a crumpled mess against the bar at the foot of the bed, a clear token of her brother's presence a while before.

She pulled the door shut and headed for the kitchen again, this time looking in every corner for a sign of Jonathan, not putting past him the idea that he might creep up on her to tease her.

The big, empty dining room looked bigger than ever, and almost like an unknown territory to Evelyn, although she knew every nook and cranny of it. The darkness, occasionally lit by the bluish-white lightening made it even spookier, and she was glad to leave it for the much smaller and cosier kitchen, where a few embers were still feebly glowing in the hearth.

It once had been the servants' kitchen – but now (and it had been so for a long time) the only other occupants beside the extended O'Connell-Carnahan family were the gardener and the housemaid, who regularly came to help Evelyn with the housekeeping, and they both lived closer to the river. The kitchen door led directly outside behind the house, and it was only when Evelyn saw the flame of the candle flicker that she noticed the door was ajar.

She tightened the collar of her dressing gown around her neck, shivering in the cold draft blowing down her calves, and went across to the door to see what was going on.

"_Ah!_"

Evelyn gave a cry of dismay when what felt like a bucket of icy water hit her fully in the face. She dashed out in a fury, thinking for a split second that her rotten prankster of a brother had played on her the old dirty trick of the pail of water balancing on the edge of the door. But when she stopped, she was aware that it was in fact the cold rain pouring down. Then finally, as she turned to go back inside, she could suddenly make out a figure huddling against the wall.

Jonathan was sitting with his profile to her, and as another flash of lightening lit up the sky, she was shocked to see water streaming down his face. She had seen her brother whimper in fear, double up with laughter, complain, sag with exhaustion, grind his teeth in grim resolution … But she had hardly ever seen him cry. Something tensed in her stomach. Then she shook herself out of it, telling herself that it was much more likely to be rain. The fool was clearly drenched and frozen to the bone.

Just as she wondered whether he had noticed her at all, he turned his head to her, and she felt a chill run through her body at the expression on his face. The light in his blue eyes had faded, as if hidden by the rain dripping from his eyelashes, and his face was twisted in anguished grief.

Not caring in the slightest about her already ruined slippers, Evelyn ran the few steps between her and her brother and dropped in front of him, putting a gentle hand on his cheek to force him to look at her. His skin felt icy to the touch.

"Jonathan? My goodness, Jonathan, that's such a stupid thing to – you'll catch your death if you – how long have you been here?"

He didn't utter a word, and Evy began to be thoroughly afraid. "Come on, please, say something, anything …"

She had taken his hands in hers, and begun to rub them energetically, refusing to let the cold, irrational fear that clawed at her heart overcome her. Eventually, something changed very slightly on her brother's face, and he stammered, in a voice very unlike his own, "I – I let you down, Evy … I let you down and she stabbed you and you died …"

_Good gracious._

"Listen to me, Jonathan," she said in her firmest voice, which was not saying a lot at that moment. "There was _nothing_ you could have done then. At that precise second, there was _not_ a _single_ thing anyone could have done. But after that, you –"

"No, Evy –" Jonathan was now clutching at her hands as if they were his only lifesaver, "– you died. You _died_ back there and I couldn't save you – I couldn't –"

His blue eyes were wider than they had ever been, and they seemed to bore right through her. But she suspected that he was not really seeing _her_ – that he was still struggling with a nightmare so horrible that it kept terrifying him even when he was awake.

Evelyn was at a complete loss as to what she should do. She had handled her brother drunk several times – if he had been right now, she'd stick him in a hot shower to warm him up, then change abruptly from hot to cold water to keep him awake, then away to his bedroom to sleep it off. But she had never seen him in such a state. This was fear beyond anything she had seen. As she lay dying, she had sensed and experienced, though shortly, Rick's anger, helplessness and bottomless desperation … It had been overwhelming, even as her vision darkened at the edges. _This_, however, was nothing like that. It was pure terror she saw, crystal-clear, in her brother's eyes.

She went to sit beside him, and pulled him close, as close as she could. His soaking, curly-haired head rested against her lap, and she could feel him shiver violently. She couldn't tell for sure if what was shaking him were shudders of cold or sobs.

"Oh, Jon …" She hadn't called him that in years, yet it seemed to roll naturally off her tongue. "Jon, it's true in a way – I did die – but please don't think that you could have prevented it. Imhotep had knocked you out, remember? I'm so glad he didn't do anything worse to you."

"I – I should've – fought back –"

"You did. You fought Anck-su-namun. Long enough for Alex to perform the incantation. And you know what? Never in my previous life had I won a fight with her. _Never_."

She spoke softly, rubbing her brother's arm and shoulder. "You showed such bravery, back there. I'm so very proud of you – my sweet, darling brother fighting a woman who was considered the best fighter in Pharaoh's entourage. And Alex told me afterwards that he didn't know the last symbol in the Book – but that you did. The two of you brought me back to life at Ahm Shere, and don't you ever forget that."

"I was – I was so scared. Don't know what I'd – what I'd do without y – you, Evy. And I'm not – joking."

His voice seemed to be gradually going back to normal, the shivers lessening. The fear in Evelyn's own heart dropped a little. She smiled, and tightened her embrace. Jonathan let out a contented sigh, and his sister felt his stiff muscles relax.

In the silence that followed, she realised that the rain was still pouring down, and that she felt quite cold. Her hands were numb.

_Idiot girl.__ It's about blooming time you get the two of you back inside before you truly die from cold!_ She shook Jonathan, gently at first, then a little harder when he didn't respond. She got on her feet and hauled him up, relieved to see a pair of blue eyes open, dazed and confused though they were.

Jonathan did make a valiant effort to walk on his own, but Evy all but carried him to the kitchen, where she dropped him on a chair after taking off his drenched pyjama jacket. When she had made sure that he wasn't going to fall asleep, she vanished upstairs to get drier night clothes and a couple of blankets. She was a little surprised, when she entered the kitchen again, to see that Jonathan had been conscious enough to put on a dry coat and a pair of spare trousers, and was currently sitting at the table, eyes closed as he drank the remnants of a glassful of brandy. That last detail, in itself, was not that surprising – keeping alcohol close was a sort of instinct for him, and though Evelyn disapproved highly of such a habit, it had proved useful a couple of times.

A second glass awaited her, and she drank it slowly, letting the strong amber-coloured liquid slide down her throat – she didn't wince as she felt the inside of her throat burn in the process. Jonathan was staring at her, smiling slightly; his curly hair was still damp, and his cheeks were still a little paler than normal, but this little smile was enough to light up his face. And if he wasn't saying anything, his eyes spoke volumes. Evy was moved by what she saw in these eyes, despite the fact that most of their expression seemed to say, '_Be careful, I don't want you to get drunk, old mum. Though it'd be pretty funny.'_

Or maybe she was imagining things.

When she had downed her drink, they slipped upstairs as quietly as they could. Evelyn hesitated a little about whether to go back to Rick, unsure about leaving her brother alone right now; but Jonathan settled the question by collapsing into the deep, comfy armchair near his own bed, wrapped in a blanket. His sister did not ask whether it was intentional or not – she arranged another blanket around him, and dropped into his bed, savouring the warmth of the extra cover she had put on top of the sheets.

Later in the night, when the storm had subsided and the room was plunged in darkness, she heard a voice mutter, through the foggy haze of sleep enveloping her, "Evy … You're officially the best – no – the bestest sister I could ever dream of. I love you, sis, really. And please note the fact that I was not drunk when I said that."

Through the dark, she felt a hand searching for her own; she took it, and felt Jonathan grasp her hand in return.

"That's nice, Jon, I noted …" She had difficulty getting the words out straight, due to her exhaustion, but she meant to finish her sentence. "And would _you_ please take note that I love my brother very, very dearly, and that I'd never want another. My Jonathan's a very fine person as he is, thank you very much."

She tripped over several syllables, and her voice was lower than a whisper by the end; but as she drew out the last word, she felt her brother's hand – much, much warmer than it had been a few moments ago – gently squeeze her own hand in answer.

She fell asleep almost instantly after that, buried up to her eyes under the sheets and blankets.

Afterwards, she never found Jonathan sitting outside in the rain and cold again, and things went back to normal – as normal as they could be. He never spoke a word about that particular night, though she sometimes tried to get him to spill the beans as to what had made him sit outside in the rain. She never got to ask him, either, whether the water coursing down his cheeks had indeed been rain, or tears.

It had probably been a mix of both.

But Evelyn also knew that it wasn't what mattered most.

* * *

Phew! An ENORMOUS thanks to my two beta readers, Cat and Laurie, thanks to whom I think this story holds the road a lot better. It used to be a bit wonky in places, some sentences were warped, and I had his overall feeling of not-so-pleased with what I'd done. Now I can sleep again Yay :o)

Oh, and to Silent Train Conductor – I've seen something on a forum that made me jump and read _The Hundred Days_. And then I reached Chapter 10. :sniffle: That was just mean of PO'B. :'(

Love to you all!


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